'Die Pistole von Waise'

“If ya Gimme a Dollar for Soda You Can Do My Mother.”

The blanketing silence that now hovered over Circle Square amused me to no end. Every time I performed on top of Palace of Dog it went the same. When I first started to act no one paid much attention, but slowly I reeled them in and left them shaken up.
Afterward, playwrights, homeless bums, old worthless sack of shit rednecks and their offspring, they all tattered off to roam about Circle Square. Some rummaged through dusty vinyl. Some went to some shabby restaurant. Some went a place much worse – home.
I headed towards an open field behind all that mess. Easure followed, then one by one, my friends gathered behind us, eventually becoming a dark entourage. We sniffed for shit like sewer rats. I knew Drew was behind me, too. In the field boys were spread out in the grass reading or writing. The competition at Braxville for the next ‘It’ writer was ridiculously high. A lot of fags ended up jumping out of the seventh story window, not able to take it anymore. Everyone lived to be better than everyone else. Some idiots chewed straw like cow as they read their own work. A pair of boys huddled together in each other’s arms, lost in damaged lust, watching us closely with tired eyes and looking around defensively, wanting to protect each other from whoever snatched up that boy. Newspaper pages scattered in the wind that promised a late night storm. Headlines read: Bellavelle Horror – Another Boy Missing.
“Where the hell is Big Jake? Isn’t he usually a part of this?” Drew started up behind us. Big Jake recently joined our gang. We wanted him just because he was a big guy. Lately, though, he could give a shit just to give a shit less. That’s why I was trying to recruit Sean.
“Dunno,” I shrugged, wanting him to shut up.
“You don’t know the story about him?” Easure offered. Easure was kinda new, too. I think he wanted in with us cause he had a constant hard on for my mother. Drew hadn’t got under his skin yet. He could still tolerate the queer jock ass punk.
“No, what?”
“His parents forced him to start taking that drug, Blowface, the happy snappy pill. They told him he’s got to leave his room, you know, get to know rich people and shit that could get him into Braxville. You know if you live in Bellavelle and don’t go to Braxville you’re just destined to be white trash. Anyway, he refused so his old man tied him to the bed and they shoved it up his ass. Now he’s having some allergic reaction to it, can’t eat, he’s losing weight like I don’t even know…and he said it’s giving him an endless chubby, he jerks it and nothing comes out.”
“Holy fuckin’…” Drew had no words for once.
“No more Big Jake, then,” I said, let down. “Now we’re destined to be known as skinny fag gang across America.”